


Four Dresses

by Abalidoth



Category: Cosmere - Brandon Sanderson, Mistborn - Brandon Sanderson, The Alloy of Law - Brandon Sanderson
Genre: But I stand by this ship regardless, F/F, Written pre-Shadows of Self
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:48:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24033037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abalidoth/pseuds/Abalidoth
Summary: Marasi knows how important it is to dress for any occasion, especially when a certain gunsmith is involved.
Relationships: Ranette/Marasi Colms
Kudos: 12





	Four Dresses

**Author's Note:**

> I found this sitting in my Docs folder recently. I wrote it before Shadows of Self came out, so keep in mind that this is oooold, but I'm still proud of it.

### Black and brown, utilitarian. Calf-length skirt that sheds stains easily. A working dress. Accessorize with an unsolved case file.

Marasi knocked at the door, fully expecting a shotgun in her face. Ranette was, of course, always the one to defy expectations -- it was a pistol.

“Miss Colms,” Ranette said. “What can I do for you? How did you find my house? And more importantly, does Wayne know where it is?”

“I need help with a case, I called in some favors, and I haven’t breathed a word of this to him.”

A pause. Then Ranette closed the door, did something with the deadbolts, and flung it open wide. “Inside. Quickly.”

Marasi stepped through, and Ranette Pulled the door closed with a gesture. “A case?” she asked.

“I’ve been working with the constabulary as part of my doctoral studies. Something of an internship.”

As Ranette led her through the house, Marasi couldn’t help but notice how Ranette looked in her trousers. When Marasi had borrowed them they just felt awkward, but the gunsmith wore them with confident, attractive grace. “If you lead the constabulary to my door, Miss Colms…”

“I promise that won’t happen. They wanted to find you, I offered to go and ask for your help on the condition that they didn’t come looking for you.”

Ranette stopped by her workbench. Marasi saw the tension ease in her shoulders, even obscured by her thick braid. “That was… very thoughtful of you.”

Marasi reached into her bag and pulled out a handful of melted, deformed bullets. “These were used in a bank robbery. They’re not a usual alloy, and there’s an unusual shape to them. Any idea who’s behind this?”

“Hmm.” Ranette fitted a jeweler’s loupe on her forehead and bent over the workbench, turning them this way and that. Marasi looked around the office, not trusting herself not to stare otherwise.

After a few minutes of inspection, Ranette dropped them back on the workbench. “Kelippe’s work. Looks like he’s trying to copy my Slider rounds. Unsuccessfully."

"More hazekillers?"

"High velocity fin stabilized rounds for Sliders to use inside speed bubbles, that don't waver at the boundary."

"Or for a Pulser's bubble?"

Ranette stared at her for a moment, stunned. Then she held out her hand and caught a paper sachet which came flying off the shelf. "A year working on these rounds and I hadn't once considered that you might make use of them. Thoughtless of me."

Marasi took that as the heartfelt sentiment it was, given the woman who said it. "Thank you, but my bubble makes everything _slower_ on the inside. So unless I. .. oh. Right." She blushed. 

Ranette nodded and pressed the bullets into her hand. "They can be used from the outside. Give them to someone you trust. Your power can pin down assailants if need be."

"Thank you. I hope to not need them, but... Kelippe, you said?"

"His attempts are substandard but it's definitely him."

Marasi grinned. "Thank you! You might have just blown this case open. I'll make sure you get none of the attention for it."

"That's one of the kindest things anyone's ever said to me."

\---

### Cheap black cotton, floor length, shapeless. Accessorize with a cap and tassel.

The door opened soon after the third knock. (After the first few consultations, they had settled on a special knock so Ranette knew she only needed to be _lightly_ armed.) Ranette was dressed in her typical work uniform, but with her muslin shirt partly unbuttoned to accommodate the early summer swelter. She was as sweaty and grimy as Marasi was coiffed and put-together, and Marasi found herself hard pressed to look away.

"Miss Colms, can I help you with. .." Ranette stopped when she saw Marasi's cap and gown. "Apologies. _Doctor_ Colms."

Marasi grinned. "I will never get tired of being called that."

"Given the hour, I can only assume you already graduated. Hard to imagine you’d need my help on a case at one in the morning.”

“Yeah.” She waved the cardboard tube that contained her diploma. “Sat for three hours, wore the doctoral hood, got the piece of paper, the whole thing.”

“Congratulations. What are you here for?”

“Yeah, it’s… well, my father was at my graduation but Steris, Wax, and Wayne are all in the Roughs for a while doing Survivor knows what. It’s one of the most important days in my life and I just feel… lonely. I just wanted to talk a while with someone who knows how hard I’ve been working for this. I don’t want to impose, but…”

“Do you like pot pie?”

“...yes?”

Ranette stuck her head out the door and looked both ways before gesturing Marasi into her house. “Well, don’t stand on the stoop all day. Come in, I can make extra.”

\---

### Blue satin with ruffles, shaped to accentuate figure. Accessorize with a bottle of wine.

“Nobody is going to recognize you, Ranette.”

“That’s the kind of thing you say when you haven’t made many enemies.”

“Come on, sit down.”

“We could have just had dinner at my place again. I wouldn’t be out in public, and I wouldn’t have to wear this rusting dress.”

“We’ve had dinner at your place for the past five dates. Come on, I promise it’s safe.”

Ranette scowled, but pulled out her chair and sat.

The sommelier came by promptly. He wore a small vial of tin pinned to his lapel -- a badge of his Allomantic status. Marasi had splurged a lot on this place. Restaurants with Tineye sommeliers didn’t come cheap. “Doctor Colms, madame guest. I have the Tekiel vintage you requested in your reservation.”

“That will be wonderful, thank you.” Marasi said. Ranette mumbled something vaguely affirmative.

Marasi tried to engage her lover (and what a strange word that still was, to roll around in her brain) in conversation a few times, but Ranette just kept glancing around the restaurant.

“The man, in the corner,” she said finally, interrupting a moment of awkward silence. “With the brown bowler and the newspaper sipping a glass of brandy. He’s been here since we came in, watching us. He’s a spy.”

“He’d better well be, given what I’m paying him.”

Ranette looked up in surprise.

“Two men by the door, hired for the evening to look for anyone suspicious. The sommelier is a friend of my father’s, and can check for poisons if you feel you need him to. And I’m full up on cadmium; I can bubble us and have someone fetch whoever we need if things go Roughs in here.”

The sommelier came back with two glasses; the conversation paused until he was finished pouring and swishing and recommending. As he left to summon the maitre d’, Ranette sagged a bit. “You’ve gone to great lengths to make me feel comfortable here. Sorry if I’ve been… difficult.”

“You’re not difficult, you’ve just had different experiences.” Marasi’s hand found Ranette’s under the table. “And you’re more than worth everything I spent here.”

\---

### Ivory brocade. Floor length; long trains are out of fashion this year. Accessorize with a bouquet.

They found a suitable field of flowers just outside the city.

There was nothing in the Survivorist scriptures that said a wedding _had_ to take place in a field of flowers, but it was a deeply held tradition at this point, and one so generally pleasant that the only people who questioned it were contrarians and the allergic.

The ceremony was small, intimate, and exceedingly private. The Words of Founding had very strong language calling for the acceptance of all forms of love, but they didn’t say anything about wedding crashers. And so it was just Marasi’s parents and sister, Wax and Wayne, and one very well-paid and slightly confused Survivorist minister.

Marasi’s father sent her off with a look of great love and no little bewilderment; he had taken the news well but she wasn’t entirely certain he would ever understand why she fell in love with a grumpy hermit gunsmith. That was fine; most days Marasi didn’t quite understand it herself.

But when she saw Ranette standing in her black-and-gold dress at the temporary altar set amongst the field of poppies, saw that rare and brilliant smile that was as fleeting and potent as a gunshot…

It wasn’t such a mystery after all.


End file.
